


Fill to Me the Parting Glass

by spectralcreek



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mandalore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-08 19:29:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15936788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectralcreek/pseuds/spectralcreek
Summary: Separated by conflicting loyalties during the rise of the Empire, Protector Fenn Rau and Lady Bo-Katan Kryze eke out a relationship of secrets and compromises. During an all-too-infrequent rendezvous, an unexpected altercation forces her to confront her past and her feelings.





	1. Chapter 1

Bo-Katan Kryze quickly surveyed the bustling pub she’d just entered. A few blocks down from one of the larger spaceports in the posh Corellia exhibition sector, the crowd was a mix of travelers in town for the Corellian Engineering Corporation Expo, as well as residents stopping in for a drink and bite to eat upon landing or before heading out. The tables were mostly full of humans, but with a Sullustian here and a Mon Cal there, and a couple of of Twi’leks charming patrons.  

Her eyes landed on a man with a familiar short cut of ginger hair, and she smiled. He sat with his broad-shouldered, jacket-clad back facing the door, nursing a dark drink.

As she moved toward him, she cast another glance around the pub. She didn’t notice any particular Imperial presence. She did, however, note the mirror behind the bar.  In the reflection, she caught the unwavering blue gaze of the man she was approaching and took a deep breath.

As if Fenn Rau would have left his back unguarded toward the door.

She sauntered up next to him, leaning in slightly. “You come here often?” she asked, her voice low.

In profile, she saw him smile and cast a downward, sideways glance at her. “Not as often as I would like.”

Stars, it was good to see him. Hear him. Be so close to him.

She slid around the table and settled into the high chair across from him. “This taken?” she asked, after she’d seated herself.

“It is now,” he replied, watching her every move intently.

She finally got a proper look at him, freckles, smirk, blue eyes, and all. The table suddenly felt like a barrier she very much did not want between them.

“So what’s good here?” She reached across the table to tap his glass, fingers passing close enough to feel the warmth of his hand.

“The company, apparently.”

“Subtle,” she commented with a grin, knowing full-well she was one to talk. “It’s a good thing I wasn’t followed. You can’t even maintain the pretense that we’ve just met for more than two sentences?”

“Evidently not,” he answered, continuing to drink her in. “Hells, I’ve missed you. You look…” he paused, presumably searching for a suitably reverent word, settling on an expressive, “good.”

She followed through with her admiration of his handsome features and took in the rest of his appearance. The civilian clothes he wore to blend in, a nondescript notched-collar shirt and shatual leather jacket, were a rare style for him, and becoming. He looked confidently and attractively relaxed. However, she knew him well enough to recognize his tightly coiled emotions; he was enjoying their game, but any time she wanted to move things along, he was going to meet her with the full force of his desire.

Feeling favorably impressed, she caught his gaze and commented, “Likewise.”

Bo-Katan’s hand was still near his on the table. She uncurled her fingers and brushed them lightly against the back of his hand. So often both gloved and armored, the touch of their skin was warm and electric.  

“I suppose it would look suspect if we left without ordering anything,” he said after a moment, voice deeper than before.

“Don’t you think you might need your strength?” she countered.

She was rewarded with flushed cheeks and a wicked grin.

Deciding it probably best if she did not grab a fistfull of his shirt and have him right there in the bar, she continued, “besides, you know how cranky you are when you’re hungry.”

He shrugged, self-deprecating. “I’m always cranky.”

“Not _always._ ” she amended. She’d had cause to see him in some very good moods. His generally stoic nature was part of his charm.

He brushed his fingers past hers again, and her focus narrowed to his hands. Big. Strong. Skillful.

“I think they have takeaway,” he said.

“Well then,” replied Bo-Katan, invitation open. “Your hotel or my ship?”

“Your ship?” he needled. “This I’ve got to see.”

“Hey, she’s not top-of-the-line like the ones you come here to drool over, but she’s gotten me out of some tight scrapes. You be nice.”

“I know how to treat a lady.” His eyes locked with hers.

“I’m aware.”

After a moment, he took a deep breath and shifted to standing. He took a step toward her and the bar, leaning into her. “What shall I get you?”

She leaned back in her chair looking up at him, shrugging, appreciating his proximity. “Surprise me.”

She watched over her shoulder as he walked away, admiring the fit of his trousers. His gait seemed a little bit stiff, but she couldn’t be sure if an injury was bothering him, he’d been waiting around for her a while, or if it was… something else.

She smiled to herself and righted in her seat, helping herself to a swig of his drink. Ne’tra gal. She pulled a face. It was no narcolethe, but sometimes you get what they carry off-world.

She mused that Fenn Rau was not great at being anything other than Mandalorian, though, honestly, she’d have it no other way. His accent would peg him as non-Corellian, and while the drink and the hairstyle certainly weren’t exclusive, it didn’t help. He carried himself like a warrior.

Of course, there was certainly nothing that said a Protector on leave couldn’t meet someone and enjoy their company. It was, however, concerning if the leader of the Protectors was meeting Mandalore’s deposed regent. It was a good thing most Imperials had a datapad full of daily regulations to keep track of, and one anonymous redhead among millions, especially on a busy planet like Corellia, probably wasn’t going to make much of an impression. At least not one so casual; if she was sneaking around and doing the usual things she oughtn’t, possibly. Picking up a handsome man in a pub? Mundane.

Thrilling as the pent-up energies for their meetings were, she wished their rendezvous could be more frequent, assuming she was still living as an outlaw. She’d take as much time with him as she could. As much as she thoroughly delighted in his touch, and was very much looking forward to rekindling that relationship, she also enjoyed his company and his counsel, his wit, and his fierce loyalty.

That loyalty, both a blessing and a curse. She respected his commitment to his responsibilities, even if supporting his fellow Protectors and keeping new outside threats from Mandalore meant begrudgingly overlooking the traitorous puppet on the throne. He had his battles, she had hers. It would just be glorious to fight side-by-side.

She glanced back over her shoulder to see how things were coming along. She saw he was leaning with an elbow on the bar, long legs stretched out, gazing at her. She threw him a smile, and they got rather so caught up in each others’ attentions that the barman needed to tap him to deliver the bag with their order.

Bo-Katan turned back and downed what remained of his drink. She then felt Fenn Rau’s his hand lightly touch her back, and a lingering warm sensation followed the drink down. Time to go.

The short walk back to the spaceport passed in a bit of a blur. The stormtroopers on guard paid them no particular attention, and the pair passed without incident. When they reached Bo-Katan’s ship, he gave it a passing inspection as she lowered the ramp and nodded with approval.  

Their hands brushed as they walked up the ramp together, and she turned to the panel to close it. She counted the heartbeats as it closed and heard him take a few steps around the room and set down their bag of food.  

The moment the ramp hissed shut, Bo-Katan turned and found herself engulfed, his arms tight around her and his body pressing her back against the bulkhead. He stilled for a handful of breaths, forehead against hers, and she appreciated the moment.  She briefly considered words, how pleased she was to see him, how much she wanted him, an expression of feelings, a smart remark, anything. But she clung to him, and pressed her hands and hips against him, and found she had nothing new to say.

Then he captured her lips with his own and all coherence fled.


	2. Chapter 2

Fenn Rau padded barefoot through the main corridor of Bo-Katan’s ship, working on a reasonable hunch he was heading toward the cargo hold; on the way in, he’d been rather too preoccupied to notice much of the surroundings. 

The ship was a light freighter, one of the smaller scales from Corellian Engineering Corp, a sturdy working ship for a tiny crew of maybe two. Pretty common, so she wouldn’t raise much attention. She seemed a standard layout, all lines and rounded edges, mixed textures, and a myriad of stacked storage nooks, control panels, and access doors. He pictured Bo-Katan going about her business here -- her business of screwing with Saxon’s Imperial actions, unexpectedly helping Mandalorians in need, laying low, running, and just surviving, as necessity demanded. 

He spotted his jacket thrown haphazardly in the corner, smiled as he retrieved it, and continued through the bulkhead door ahead. He swapped his jacket with the food he’d set down earlier in the hold, then turned back the way he had come.

Pausing mid-step as he passed the corridor for the cockpit, he changed course. Professional curiosity aside, it was comforting to know what was keeping Bo-Katan safe out there. He took a seat in the pilot’s chair, briefly cold against his bare back, and checked out the controls. Without turning on any of the flight systems or seeing her in action, he suspected the ship would be fast and handle well. She was an older model, and had seen light years; the instrument panels were worn but well-kept. He caught a few mods for extra weapons systems, and what was probably an overclock speed booster.

He paused in his analysis when he felt Bo-Katan’s hands on his shoulders, sliding her palms down his chest. He felt the warmth of her breath, and then her mouth against his neck, moving upward to nuzzle against his ear.

“You’re in my chair,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back with a contented sigh, allowing her better access. “Just taking a look. She’s a beauty.”

“I’m glad you approve,” she said, giving his earlobe a gentle tug before coming around to settle in his lap. 

Stars, she was wearing his shirt. Cuffs rolled up, hem skirting her thighs, collar… he placed a kiss on her exposed neck.

“You know,” she continued with casual air, “I have an opening for a co-pilot.”

He connected her freckles like constellations. “How’s the salary?” he mumbled against her skin, somewhat proud he was able to maintain any composure. 

“Probably better than whatever Saxon is paying you. And the benefits…”

“Oh, indeed?” he pulled back to catch her bright green gaze. “Tell me about the benefits.” 

She trailed her fingertips up his chest, along his jaw, and against his lips.” I’ll level with you, I  _ just  _ don’t think I can spare the space to give you your own bunk.”

He smiled, running his hand along her thigh, feeling the lean muscle under the soft skin. “Tight quarters have their charms, but you’d probably want to invest in a bigger bed.”

“You make a point,” she grinned. 

Watching her was entrancing. He loved the crinkles by her eyes when she smiled. He loved her fiery disheveled hair. He loved the feel of her fingertips. He loved seeing her happy. He watched her features relax, and he loved her serious, too.

“I wish we weren’t joking,” she confessed, smoothing her hand along the longer hair on top of his head, brushing down along the shorter cut on the side.

He agreed, but he’d rather not yet face that reality. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her gently. They lingered a few moments, enjoying their closeness.

When she leaned back, she bumped the takeaway bag with her foot. 

“I’d been trying to find the galley,” he explained.

Bo-Katan uncurled herself, picked up the food, and took his hand, leading him through the ship. 

They brushed against one another in the galley, gathering flatware and drinks, unpacking food, and went about figuring out if it was worth reheating or having it cold. As they settled side by side, they discussed the relative merits of flatbreads at different temperatures. They agreed anything reasonably fresh was better than rations, though they’d developed an odd fondness for some. They traded bites of ryshcate, along with fingertip kisses, and wished it was the clearly superior uj cake of home. 

Taking a long drink to clear the sweet cake, Bo-Katan returned to her previous musings. “What  _ would  _ Saxon do if you just didn’t come home? Surely others have tried to get out from under his thumb.”

He frowned. “Retaliate. Against the Protectors, and against my clan. It would be a massacre.”

She frowned, too. “Well, that wouldn’t do.”

He knew this was uneasy ground, but since she seemed to want to discuss possible futures, he ventured forth. “It would be different if I could bring them under the banner of a unified Mandalorian Resistance.” 

“I haven’t got an army, Fenn.” Her use of his given name was a pleasing intimacy. “Allies, yes. Friends, yes. But most in spots just as sticky as yours. I can’t be sure they’d answer if I called.”

“You might be surprised by the influence you still wield.”

“I can’t even influence _you_.” 

“Like hells you can’t.” They grinned at each other a moment before he continued seriously. “If you call me as my Regent, the Protectors will heed. But I won’t betray them just to live as a fugitive.” 

“You think _I_ like it?” she asked.

He considered the question, and things past discussed. No, this was maybe not what she had expected her life would be like. But then again, maybe it was. She’d known political turmoil her whole life. She’d wanted to fight as a true Mandalorian. It was perhaps a bit of both. She bore the struggle well.

“Like it or not, it doesn’t disagree with you,” he replied, running his hand through her hair and brushing his thumb over her lips. “I swear you get more beautiful every time I see you.”

She leaned into his touch. “Maybe you just love me more,” she said lightly.

“Aye, that, too.” He held her gaze.

She took his hand from her cheek and kissed it. “How long have we got?”

“Three days,” he replied with some regret. “You know, I was beginning to wonder if you weren’t coming.”

“I’ll always come. I might be late, but if I don’t show up, I must be dead or in binders.”

He frowned. “Don’t joke about it.”

“Who’s joking?”

He held her hand, small, smooth and strong. “How do we compress a life together into three days?” he mused.

“If previous experience is any indication, we spend most of the time in bed,” she said, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand and moving closer to him.

“Was that an objection?” he asked, leaning into her.

“Why would you even ask me that?”

He smirked. “Tell you what, though. Good credits are being spent on that hotel, and it’s got a bloody great big bed.”

She made a contented noise. “Good plan.” She closed the distance between them and kissed him lingeringly. “Though I suppose,” she said against his lips, “I shouldn’t go out like this.” She guided his hand along her leg, against the bottom hem of her shirt. His shirt. His shirt that she was wearing. 

“No,” he mumbled, “nor should I.” 

Her hand slid across his ribs. “Does this mean you’ll be wanting your shirt back?”

He gathered a fistfull of the shirt hem and deepened the kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

Fenn Rau blinked up in some confusion at the night sky as he stepped out from under the shadow of Bo-Katan’s ship. Evidently, they’d lost track of time. He quirked a smile.

Having set the security system, she stopped beside him, shouldering her bag. She looked sleek from the fresher and attractive, even in her in her different offworlder clothes. 

“Damn,” she murmured, also realizing the time. “They’ll have closed the side gate. We’ll have to go out the front.”

They’d have to backtrack a few blocks around the spaceport to retrieve his rented speeder near the bar to get to the hotel. They may have been in the exhibition sector, but it was still Corellia. “It can be a little rough out there.”

Bo-Katan gave him a blank look that made him chuckle.

“You know the Imps take a dim view of civilians carrying concealed weapons,” he added.

She shrugged. “I’ve been meaning to brush up on my hand-to-hand anyway.” She briefly brushed her hand against his, and he took a moment to refocus on her exceptional fighting skills.

“I feel a little sorry for the Corellian street toughs.”

“You probably should,” she said, grimly. “I don’t think it’s a great place to live if you haven’t got the credits to live well.”

“True enough,” he replied.  He had never been especially interested in the personal acquisition of wealth and the shades of oppression that went with it, but he also recognized he’d never been in a position to want for basic needs. Bo-Katan, however, was somewhat more acquainted with the subject, and it would be among her considerations should she regain her position as regent.

They made their way out of the spaceport and cut through the back alleys, feeling at ease together, if alert to the surroundings. Passing the rubbish bins, scavenger rats scattered. A few spare ship parts loomed darkly behind locked fences. Steam wafted from exhaust pipes, obscuring the view. 

Beyond the scuttling creatures, intermittent late night traffic, and ambient city noise, he heard a repetitive sound behind them; footsteps. As they came into the shadow of a speederlane underpass, he casually took her arm.

“You hear it?” he asked under his breath.

Bo-Katan nodded. “I’d rather it doesn’t know we’re onto it.”

A few steps further, he slowed, leaning against the wall to ostensibly work a stone out of the tread of his boot. He attempted a glance behind him.

A blaster shot sounded, burning just past Bo-Katan.

She dove across the walkway, taking shelter behind a duracrete pillar. Another shot flew in her direction, and he quickly made for cover with her, shoulder-to-shoulder, seeing her pull a blade from her sleeve.  He pulled a knife from his boot.

“Retreat or advance?” he asked.

“I don’t like people taking shots at me. I want to get eyes on the hostile, at least.”

“Your call.”

Several more shots blasted the pillar. Dust and chunks of duracrete flew.

“Bastard is going to bring the Imps down on us,” she muttered, waiting for a break in the fire.

“Unless it is…” 

She shook her head. “Hear the pitch? I know that blaster.”

He concentrated on the sound. Ground assault weapons were less familiar than fighter ships.  “Almost sounds like a battle droid.”

“Agreed,” she said. 

As if to confirm their assessment, a familiar robotic battle droid voice filled the alley, deeper than the standard B1.

“TARGET IDENTIFIED: DEATH WACH 002, DESIGNATION: BO-KATAN KRYZE.”

“Uugh… _di'kutla shuk'la pirimpir buyca'ad_...” she groaned in Mando’a.

He couldn’t help but chuckle. Useless son of a broken piss bucket, indeed.

She smacked his shoulder.

Another round of fire. The pillar continued to chip away. A double blast blew away a large chunk. It was a bad place to hold their ground. Their lack of ranged weapons was a problem. 

“OBJECTIVE: TERMINATE DEATH WATCH 002, DESIGNATION: BO-KATAN KRYZE.”

So much for undercover.

“Can we shut that thing up?” she asked irritably, checking the surroundings for anything useful.

They still might have some time before the situation got worse. “I get the feeling there aren’t many official patrols down here.” 

“Bloody well better not be.” 

“Seeing as it’s after you, I’ll distract it,” he said, gesturing aside. Crumbled duracrete had created a spot of cover. 

“Don’t distract it. _Demolish_ it,” she growled.

“Working on it, love,” he replied. He darted toward the smoking debris, getting a murky look at the droid in the process.

It had the glowing red sensors and general appearance of a MagnaGuard, but it had clearly seen action and had been repaired haphazardly. A bulky B2 battle droid arm was raised and firing on the right; a dinky commando droid arm had been attached on the left, alternately firing a blaster rifle.

Ducking behind the makeshift cover, drawing attention from Bo-Katan, he called to the droid. “Your circuits are faulty. Check the database again. This isn’t Lady Kryze, this is Moira Rau.” 

He arbitrarily threw out the name of his similarly ginger sister, hoping it would work as a cover. He also hoped the droid didn’t have a rocket launcher hidden in that big arm. 

The droid had not turned toward him, put paused in its approach to the pillar. “ACCESSING MANDALORIAN DATABASE. FAULT: TARGET IN QUESTION IS 4 CM TALLER THAN SUBJECT: MOIRA RAU.”

He heard a scoff from behind the pillar. “To be fair, I’m _definitely not_ your sister!”

“The droid doesn’t know about us,” he called back.

“Well, _it does now!_ ” she yelled irritably.

_ Haar’chak.  _

At least he was supposed to be on Corellia. But if it was doing an unsecured search, connecting the two of them was not good…

He saw Bo-Katan risk a quick glance around the diminishing pillar. He could see a few narrow steel bars at the pillar’s core.

“SUBJECT: FENN RAU IS UTILIZING TACTIC: DISTRACTION AND OBFUSCATION. PROFILE ALGORITHM CONFIRMED. TARGET IDENTIFIED: DEATH WATCH 002…”

“ _Shut up already!_ ” cried Bo-Katan, appearing for a moment and flinging a small duracrete chunk at the droid, smashing its face with deadly accuracy. A photoreceptor shattered and sparked.

He took the opportunity to dash toward the droid from the blind left side, driving his carbon knife into its neck and grappling for the blaster.

Unfortunately, the smaller commando arm was both awfully strong and equipped with a fusioncutter.

He was smashed backward into the pillar in a cloud of crumbling duracrete, arm searing, ears ringing, but had managed to both come away with the blaster and do some damage. The droid’s head was now partly severed, sparking and dangling at a grotesque angle. It lurched forward crookedly, attempting to aim its big blaster arm.

“OBJECTIVE ... TERMINATE DEATH WATCH 002 … DESIGNATION …”

Only half righted, he swept the blaster rifle in a low arc, severing the droid’s legs. It crashed backward, firing erratically at the archway above, showering more dust.  

“TERMINATE…”

Damned thing wasn’t just going to bring the Imps, it was going to bring the underpass down.  

He felt Bo-Katan’s hand lightly on his chest for just a moment, checking that he was in one piece. He then watched her dart toward the droid.

A second later, the air around her lit with the bright blue glow and filled with the buzz of arcing electricity. 

She’d hit the droid with a shot from a handheld deactivator. The droid stopped firing and clanged to the ground, immobile. She shot it with the deactivator again, twice, spending the charge.

“You couldn’t have done that _before?_ ” he asked, standing and surveying the damage, winded and indignant. 

“I was _trying,_ ” she responded, defensive, hair in a soft frizzed halo. “You know these weak things have miserable range, and I didn’t very well want to electrocute _you_ … _Fenn._ ” 

Her demeanor had changed entirely for the last word, serious and distressed.  He processed her gestures and checked his arm.

A fusioncutter burn stung angrily across his upper left arm, though thankfully only superficial. He patted out the smoking embers around the hole in the sleeve of his jacket and shook off some dust. “It’s fine.”

Bo-Katan frowned, but continued to survey the area. “We can’t stay here, this’ll have attracted attention. I think the structure’s still sound, at least.” As she spoke, she knelt down to the droid and stabbed her blade into the head, prising it open. “Probably no surveillance down here, probably too hard to see. Probably don’t care to maintain it, anyway.” She cut and pulled back a few layers, accessing the droid’s memory core. Yanking it out, she hastened to grab her bag and stuff it inside.  

They hurried down the alleyways, pausing as they approached more major roads. They took each other by the elbows and she gave him a quick once over. She tried to rescue his appearance a bit by ruffling his hair and brushing at his trousers and jacket, creating small poofs of dust, careful around his arm. He felt a little tender in spots, but he’d certainly had worse. He just enjoyed her touch. 

He tenderly smoothed her hair and they wiped smudges from their cheeks and brows. Nodding to each other as the best they could do, they reentered the sparsely populated public space. 

The speederbike lot wasn’t far, and few people were out at that hour.  Once underway, Bo-Katan was warm against his back and the cool night air was nice as they sped along.  

The hotel was modest, but quality.  As they entered the lobby, he hoped they were passing as having had a really good night at the pub, not a full-out alley battle.

The room was welcoming. The light was soothing, the carpet was plush, and the bed looked inviting. He took off his boots and shrugged carefully out of his jacket on the way to collapse on the bed, but Bo-Katan plucked at his burnt sleeve and redirected him toward the fresher. The sleeve tore further as she examined the wound.

“Hey!” 

“You can fix it later,” she said, frowning. “Or not. It’s in sorry shape anyway.”

“You could have just taken the shirt _off_.”

“In a minute, I’m trying to concentrate,” she half-smirked a moment before frowning at the burn again. “It’s _not_ nothing,” she scolded.

“It’s _fine_ ,” he replied.  Earned scars, ample amenities, and the care of his lady; honestly, he was doing marvelously.

Bo-Katan rifled through her bag on the floor, tossing out a few items. He took a moment considering what appeared to be a small, silky black garment.

She rose with a bottle of narcolethe and a bacta patch. “Better start with that,” she said, handing him the bottle, then busying herself washing her hands and wetting a washcloth. 

He took a generous swig, the burning down his throat less than the burning in his arm. She worked quickly and efficiently, and then carefully secured the sterile bacta patch.  Her hands lingered on him as the burning sensation began to reduce to a more of a warmth.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, placing a light kiss on the top of her head. The smell of duracrete covered her shampoo. She had a pensive air about her. Sad that he was hurt? Angry at the droid? Planning her next moves? Some combination of all of the above?

She stepped back and crossed the room to turn on the shower, then returned to ease off his shirt. He followed her lead.

“Sorry about your jacket,” she said as she tossed the shirt in the entryway next to it. “I liked it.”

He shrugged with his good shoulder. “I’m sure it can be repaired.” His hands slid around her waist, fingertips skimming the skin under the hem of her top. She raised her arms and he accepted the invitation, slipping off the article of clothing, adding to the pile. 

Her hands trailed down his chest to his waistband, unbuckling his belt, then she leaned forward to place a gentle kiss in the middle of his chest. “I’m sorry about your shoulder,” she said, her breath warm against him.

“I’m all right,” he said as he moved back to step out of the rest of his clothes. She watched, green eyes traveling the length of him, and eventually settling back on the bacta patch. He closed the space between them again, tilting his head to catch her gaze. She focused her gaze up at him, and he gently cradled her cheek in his hand. “I’m all right,” he repeated soothingly. 

Concern eased from her face and she gave him a soft smile. 

“Would you like me to show you?” he prompted. If she was worried about him, he would gladly reassure her to the best of his ability, but he wanted to give her space, if she wanted it.

“Yes,” she said, taking his hand from her cheek and kissing it. She made graceful work of the rest of her clothes, with his assistance.

He remapped her familiar star field of freckles, anticipating charting new and favorite courses along her warm tones of fair cream, soft pink, and fiery red. 

She took his hand and led him into the shower.  As relaxing and rejuvenating as the warm water felt, it paled in sensation to when Bo-Katan pressed herself against him.


	4. Chapter 4

Bo-Katan restlessly gave up on sleep, a frustratingly common occurrence.  She’d learned to doze when she could and sleep with alertness near at hand long ago; a childhood in turmoil, decisions made watching her back, a life on the run.  One of the many perks about her rendezvous with Rau were that, between the exertions and the endorphins, they often afforded a luxuriously deep sleep. 

At least, they did on the occasions when they had time, when they weren’t otherwise occupied, and when they weren’t at especially imminent risk of being discovered by the Empire.

Though his warmth and weight and scent were calming, and though she felt very tired, she couldn’t quiet her mind. She carefully extracted herself from his limbs and the tangle of sheets.  He roused slightly, but she soothed him with a light touch and he relaxed.

They’d left on a dimmed light, and she searched for the chemise she’d brought. She then rifled through her bag, pulling out a datapad, multicharger, and the droid’s memory core.

Settling quietly at the room’s desk, she powered on the datapad for a little more light, double checked there was no local broadcaster on the memory core, and plugged in the multicharger. 

Memory core access appeared on the datapad, which meant she hadn’t fried the thing entirely with the deactivator. Good. Well, maybe good. She ran some safeguards, making sure she could only access the data on the core, and that it wouldn't modify itself or the datapad. She needed to run an old Separatist decrypter, and then she was going to have to hope a recovery routine would still access the core.

She’d picked up some basic slicing skills here and there, which had saved her more than a few times. Accessing most memory cores was a piece of uj cake. Old but-not-too-old tech, early Empire, low-level offices, they barely encoded anything. Usually, the higher up the chain, the more complicated things got. And Rebels were tricky.

She let the routines run on the datapad and was pleased to see unrestricted, mostly recovered access. She checked the activity log first, looking for incoming and outgoing data usage. 

The good news is that the droid hadn’t seemed to be directly contacting any other electronics, no other droids or coms, at least on first glance. Probably not an immediate threat of anything or anyone else tracking them there.

But it had been using the holonet, and in its history there was a mess of, well, her. She felt unease settle in the pit of her stomach.

The droid had been running standard encryption, so its path through the holonet wouldn’t be miserably transparent. That was good, in case anyone on the Imperial Mandalorian side was tracking when her data record was accessed. She imagined Imps, bounty hunters, and even allies were trying to find her, so her record was probably busy. But if somebody on Mandalore really did some targeted digging, they might get lucky and connect access to Fenn Rau and herself; moderate risk. They’d been connected before, might be following an old thread. He was known to be on Corellia anyway. Still, she’d get their contacts to modify their access records at the earliest convenience. 

It seemed like it had been a complicated stand-alone deductive algorithm that had ultimately located her. Seemed local to the droid. She wasn’t an expert on it, though, she’d have to get that double-checked. 

All the data that went into it, however, was unsettling. She knew the things she’d done, and she worked to come to terms with that. Seeing bits of her life compiled and filtered and analyzed by a third party was something else. 

Her recent whereabouts were spotty; incomplete, occasionally right, occasionally wrong. She had to assume that whatever recent data this droid had, Mandalore had it, too.  That was mostly acceptable. The little bit of truth made the purposeful misinformation easier to accept. She found some unconfirmed missions on there, though, that she’d been pretty sure the Imps had not know about; she was going to have to be careful in the next few weeks.

What was really shocking, however, was the older material, and what had ultimately made the droid tick.

Death Watch. 

Not just the public Death Watch activities, which were uncomfortable to review, to varying degrees. 

This was camp data. Created first-hand by the droid’s photoreceptors. 

This had been one of the target practice droids.

Bo-Katan pushed back from the desk and passed her hand over her face. No wonder the droid had carried a vendetta. 

She sat there a moment when she heard Fenn Rau stirring in the tangle of sheets behind her. She turned as as he groggily reached across the bed, pausing when he found himself alone in it.

“I’m here,” she said softly.

He moved to sit up, and she watched the interplay of muscles in his chest and shoulders. He winced slightly as he put weight on his injured arm, and she noticed the bruise darkening on his side where he’d hit the pillar. Neither had seemed to particularly inconvenience him.

Sheets pooled low on his hips, he ruffled a hand back through his tousled hair. It was charmingly loose and wavy. His heavy-lidded blue eyes took her in, and the corner of his mouth quirked up.

“I know for a fact that you ought to be tired,” he said, his voice deep.

She gave him a small smile. “I am. Couldn’t sleep.”

He stretched and rearranged himself further on the bed, leaning against the headboard. “What’s on your mind?”

She glanced back at the datapad, at the holostills of armored Mandalorians in the snowy forest of Carlac.

“You know that feeling when all your past mistakes come back to haunt you?” she asked, gesturing toward the memory core.

She turned toward him, and he looked a bit apologetic. “Not especially?”

She sighed out a light laugh.  “Of course you don’t,” she concluded, feeling sentimental about Fenn Rau, Mandalorian hero. Recruited to the esteemed Protectors as soon as possible, hot-shot war pilot, brave upstanding leader, trustworthy to a fault. And sure, he was technically sleeping with the enemy, but to be fair, the Empire was every Mandalorian’s enemy. She was under no allusions that he had no regrets; he’d made military calls he’d do over, he mourned every warrior he lost personally, and he had to make compromises in his position. But Fenn Rau didn’t have quite the same kinds of impurities in the fuel that she did.

He seemed to recognize that he’d complicated things. “I didn’t mean…” he began.

“I know.” She quirked a fond smile at him, still lost in thought. “You know, a lot of my time in Death Watch wasn’t bad. Early days, before Ursa left … afterward, even. It was good to get out, to master the land, to hone my skills. Throw punches. Take punches. Use weapons. Survive. I was learning things that could help me help our people.” 

She took a breath, looking at the datapad, and continued. “I was so angry. My parents were dead, and my sister … it was like she just didn’t care. We  _ had _ to fight back. But she wouldn’t fight. I didn’t know what was wrong with her. … I’m  _ still  _ angry, I’m  _ more  _ angry. But most of us were sort of bastards in one way or another, and we let it rule us. Some more than others.”

“The warrior’s way without honor,” Rau said quietly.  An observation, perhaps a judgement, but without scorn, shaded a little with pity.

“Pre Vizsla would have told you everything we did was for the honor and glory of Mandalore. He believed it.”

“Did you?” The question was soft, open.

“I wouldn’t have been there if I didn’t. But sometimes,” she gestured to the memory core, “where was the glory in blasting stupid droids over and over? Where was the glory in senseless destruction? It wasn’t glory. Not then, anyway. It was an outlet for pain, anger, isolation. I had those things, and I needed the excuse. I’ll own my time in Death Watch, but I did some things I’m not proud of. There are some things that I let happen that I didn’t stop.”

She was quiet for the moment, feeling the weight of her choices. Feeling the weight of those dead innocents on Carlac, her sister, civil war...

“Bo-Katan,” he said gently, beckoning, “come here.”

She uncurled herself from the chair and crawled up the bed. She laid her head on his chest, and he wrapped his arm around her. He caressed her arm and kissed the top of her head.

“Whatever you did and whoever you were is different from who you are now,” he said, and she felt the reverberation of his voice in his chest. “Your past makes you stronger. You are brave and honorable. You stand against the Empire. You risk your life to try to keep your people free. You’re the woman I fight beside, the woman who shares my bed, and the woman I love.”

She smiled and caressed his chest. “I haven’t changed entirely,” she said, feeling the fair hairs, pausing at the freckles. “I can still be a bastard.” 

He chuckled, a warm sound and sensation. “Aren’t we all sometimes?”

She lifted her head and gazed into his eyes. In the dim light, the blue was deep, his pupils large. “Fenn Rau, I’m not sure I deserve you.”

His hand trailed down the silky fabric covering her back and smiled at her. “That’s not how love works.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild content warning for some violent imagery, but no real harm.

_ Bo-Katan knelt in the throne room of Sundari. The room was dark, and the cold blue crystalline shadows reminded her of the royal prison. There was a certain unpleasant similarity.   _

_ She searched the floor for blood, for black stains in the dark, though she knew there wouldn’t be any; the darksaber wouldn’t draw blood. Pre Vizsla, her sister, how many others? How many could she have stopped? How many did she cause?  _

_ She took her hands off the floor and expected to see the blood there, instead, but she couldn’t turn her wrists. Binders.  _

_ She was grabbed roughly by the shoulders from behind and hauled to her feet. Gar Saxon passed in front of her, and while he didn’t spare her a glance, she caught his triumphant sneer.  He strode off, and she was shoved behind him by stormtroopers, out along the transparisteel promenade. _

_ She shuffled along, ankles bound as well, seeking escape. Behind a sentient barrier of armed stormtroopers lining the walkway, she could see Mandalorians. Proud faces, happy to see her go; downcast faces, ashamed, submissive, failed. Could see see the faces of the dead? Or were they wearing helmets? Had they joined the crowd to judge her? _

_ She was pulled to a stop roughly at a crumbled plaza monument. The holographic symbol of Death Watch rotated slowly, the bright orange shape casting a flickering glow like a fire in dim light. The debris from the plaza explosion should have had been cleared long ago; instead, it looked like wreckage of the blasted underpass from the previous night.  _

_ Gar Saxon came beside her, too close. She futilely considered making a grab for his blaster, holstered in that bastardized Imperial armor. He reached up and grabbed her hair, stilling her and yanking her head around.  _

_ She saw the plaza for what it was: the remains of the monument served as a wall facing a firing squad.  _

_ Tiber Saxon came forward, grimly triumphant as he led a beaten warrior to the pillar. She let out a ragged breath as his helmet, his last bit of armor, was removed, revealing a bloodied Fenn Rau.  _

_ She struggled against her captors, but a sharp backhand from Saxon stunned her momentarily.  _

_ “Did you suppose,” Saxon demanded, startlingly loud enough to be heard not just by the prisoners, but the Mandalorian spectators, “that I don’t know who is loyal to me?” _

_ Bo-Katan reeled slightly. She wanted to struggle, but was frozen. She wanted to speak, but no sound would come. _

_ The firing squad prepared their blasters. _

_ “I am loyal to Mandalore,” came the strong voice of Fenn Rau, holding her gaze.  “Oya manda!” _

_ Bo-Katan wrenched herself forward… _

… and woke with a start.  

Automatically, her hand moved to the knife she’d embedded in the headboard, eyes darting around the room, breath fast.  

The room was quiet, still and dim, her bare skin prickling in the cool air.  Next to her, Fenn Rau slept on. She took a steadying breath.

Blasted nightmares.

As she came back to herself, she dropped her hand, leaving the knife in place.  She’d long-adopted the habit of keeping her knife by the bedside, and muscle memory had once saved her.  While it comforted her to know she was prepared, unfortunately, the knife had not yet kept bad dreams at bay. Considering her recent events, she should have been enjoying very good dreams. Apparently some part of her mind didn’t know what to do with pleasant feelings and agreeable company.

She collapsed back into the soft, safe pillows, gently rearranging the sheets.  When she felt calm enough to bare her back to the room, she rolled over to check on her still-sleeping partner.  

He was deep asleep, lying comfortably sprawled on his back, far arm strewn to the pillow above his head. The hand of his nearer left arm rested on his softly rising and falling chest.

The left arm was also his burnt arm.  The injury seemed inflamed; not infected, but the bacta patch had swollen, as was customary to healing.  This one seemed puffy and loose, though, and the dressing would need to be changed sooner rather than later. She was pretty sure she had another large patch.  

She found herself echoing his slow, even breaths, and though everything was clearly fine, she still felt ill at ease. Nightmares and dark memories aside, the always-looming threat of the Empire lurked as standard background noise. The assassin droid had been taken care of, though it was possible related threats were out there, plotting.  For whatever reason, she didn’t like that he was injured while protecting her, and she wasn’t sure why it was bothering her so much.

It wasn’t as if they had been particularly sloppy in battle or made a bad showing; the attack came as a surprise. The droid had been much better armed than they had been, so coming out on top of that fight with only a minor injury held no shame.  And yet…

It wasn’t as if she thought she owed him. Surely they were past counting such debts, after all this time. He would fight for her, and not just because it was his duty. She would fight for him.  She was pleased they did get an opportunity to fight together successfully. And yet…

It wasn’t as if the wound was serious. A Mandalorian warrior in his prime like Fenn Rau would heal quickly. He had proved to her quite conclusively his injuries were little more than a slight inconvenience. And yet…

Was it not about the injury at all? Was it something she should have done? Shouldn’t have done? Should have said? Should not have said?

Something continued to trouble her like a stone in her boot until Rau stirred, stretching appealingly.

“Rest well?” she asked, admiring the long stretch of his arms and following down his torso.  

He grinned at her. “Never better than with you beside me.”

She was charmed, sliding her hand over the planes of his chest. “I have a few theories about that.”

“Oh?” he asked, reaching for her. “I would love to test them thoroughly.”

She easily moved to him, pressing him back into the pillows with slow, leisurely kisses.  The range of their intimate moments delighted her, from raw passion to sensitive tenderness. She contentedly fitted herself against him. “Can we stay here forever?” she asked, bemused.

He made a soft but discontented grunt. “Not even for the rest of the day, I’m afraid. I should put in an appearance at the expo for a few hours.”

“I thought this was your vacation?”

“Official leave, yes, and happy to be here. But the government is footing the bill for travel and accomodations so I can make a report about the new ships.”

Bo-Katan processed this and sat up sharply. “Gar Saxon is paying for this bed?”

For a moment, it was unclear even to her how she was going to react to this information.  She had a brief, unpleasant flash of her nightmare. Part of her wanted nothing paid for with wealth bled from her people. The other part of her, however…

She stretched for the datapad on the bedside table. “We’re ordering room service.  _ Lots _ of room service.”


	6. Chapter 6

Bo-Katan was used to preparing for the inevitable, that all good things must come to an end. She was thus also accustomed to fighting to seize every available moment.  As she double-checked the room for stowed weapons and errant clothing, she mused on her last few days. When she’d received proper confirmation through her secured channels with allies that the murderous droid was on a lone, rogue mission and her record was untangled, she felt a lingering knot of tension ease away. She had spent the day feeling a fleeting sense of safety, comfort, and pleasure that was hard to come by.  

This, in and of itself, had now contrarily started to turn into a bit of restlessness. As they left the room, she was ready to be off Corellia, but it was of course bittersweet to leave her lover. When he reported home, he would insist his time on Corellia had been well-spent, and hoped to continue making the trip annually. It couldn’t be said that they hadn’t thoroughly seized every opportunity.  

She enjoyed pressing against the solid warmth of his back as they took the speeder bike back her her ship.  Once aboard, she started a diagnostic. All early reports were fine, but Bo-Katan hadn't stayed alive thus far without being extra cautious.  Meanwhile, they had some time to spare.

“Come on,” she said, taking Rau’s hand and leading him back toward her quarters. “I have something for you.”

At the doorway, he wrapped his arm around her waist from behind and pulled her against him, nuzzling her neck with eager kisses.

She hummed in appreciation. “That, too, but I actually  _ do  _ have a present for you.”

She opened a storage locker and removed the long, rectangular wooden case of the gift, setting it on the bunk and inviting him to join her. “I should’ve given it to you before, but I was, uh… distracted. Obviously.” 

He opened the case and let out a low whistle of admiration for the instrumental gift, a mandoviol. As a point of cultural pride, he had an interest in Mandalorian folk music. The art intertwined with the storied history of Mandalore, life and death, war, love, loss, honor, and greater meanings and purposes. She had been fortunate enough to feel some of the poetry in his soul. He ran his fingers gently over the carved wooden body of the stringed instrument.

“Should I leave you two alone?” she asked with a smirk.

“Is this galek wood?” he asked, admiring the shape, the color, and the workmanship of the delicate beskar inlays of silver leaves.

“I think so.”

“Where did you get it?” 

“An old Clan Kryze stronghold back on Kalevala. I think this is the one that belonged to my grandfather. He tried to teach me to play, but I was still very young when he died. About all I can do is tune it.”

“I can’t take this,” he said, voice heavy with regret.

“I want you to have it.” At this point, the heirloom passing to him seemed right. He certainly showed an appreciation for the instrument.

“And believe me, I  _ want  _ it. But I  _ can’t  _ take it back to Concord Dawn. Not likely that I found this kind of valuable antique in a pawnshop on Corellia.”

He had a point. She shrugged, reminded again of their precarious relationship. 

He shifted off the bunk, kneeling in front of her, taking her shoulders in his hands and resting his forehead against hers. “Keep it safe for me?”

She gave him a small smile. “Of course. But would you play it for me, before you go?”

He leaned back on his heels, setting the case gently on the floor, and reverently taking up the mandoviol. He settled next to her on the bunk, giving the strings a few light strums and taking in the warm sound while listening and thinking. She watched his hands as he deftly settled on a gentle tune. 

She was familiar with his speaking voice, and she had heard bits of song from him; celebrating with mates and ale, and humming in the fresher.  She still found herself somewhat unprepared for the full effect of his singing. Her breath caught at his rich tones, lilting syllables in his particular dialect of Mando’a. 

He’d selected an appropriately melancholy and sweet folksong of parting, _Ret'urcye Mhi_.  She sat entranced as he sang of lovers wishing each other well and hoping to meet again. Pleasant shivers ran through her skin, feeling his strong, deep notes at the base of her spine, breath rising and falling with the flow of the song.  It was as an intimate an experience as many they had shared. 

As she listened, enraptured, awareness came to her like the dawn. It was less of a sudden revelation and more of a steadily growing acceptance of something she already knew, but was hesitant to admit. 

She loved him.

But accepting these feelings meant inevitable loss. 

Not just the immediacy of leaving, but the bone-deep knowledge of future pain. Everything she had ever cared for deeply was lost, and she would surely lose again.

She wanted to keep this at arm’s length, she didn’t want to complicate her feelings for him with birthrights and mortality any more than necessary.

But stars help her, that’s already where she was. He was already risking his life for her. She’d have to make peace with her time with him as long as she could have him. She’d revel in it.

Bo-Katan came back to herself as the last chord of his song faded in the room. She placed her hand over his on the now quiet strings, and the physical touch captured something of the ephemeral mood. They carefully set the instrument back in its case. They sat for a moment, souls bared to one another, and then together fell back on the bed to make love for what they both knew could be the last time.


	7. Chapter 7

Bo-Katan felt slightly more herself again in her armor. She felt warm and protected, her skin beneath still tingling from the kisses Rau had covered her with as he helped her into it.

She reflected again on the sensation of embracing him, she in her armor, he still without. He would change back to his armor for the expo closing address. So while he wasn’t dressed as a proper Mandalorian as they parted, she did at least get to feel him through his thin civilian clothes as they shared a long kiss.

Goodbye again, for she didn’t know how long.

 _Ret'urcye Mhi_. Perhaps we’ll meet again.

He turned to go, and got a few steps down the ramp before she ran after him, catching him by the elbow.

“Fenn Rau.”

Ancestors only knew why she used his full name just then, but it sounded right in her ears.

He turned back, mildly surprised and expectant as he shifted his weight and fixed her with his clear-eyed gaze.

Her pulse was pounding in her ears. She was terrified to say it, but more frightened still to let it go unsaid.

“You know I love you, don’t you?”

“Oh. Aye.” He smiled and gently reached for her hand, enclosing it in his and then lifting it to kiss her fingers, somewhere between courtly and intimate. “I’ve always known.”

“How? I couldn’t say it, I…”

“Bo-Katan.” He reached up, smoothing a hand over her hair and then cupping her cheek. “You’ve risked your pretty neck to see me, to be with me, for a day, a night, an hour, whenever we could manage it. You’ve been faithful to me, and I to you. You trust me, you share your thoughts with me, you share your bed with me. You’ve shown me your care. If that’s not love, I don’t know what it is.”

She leaned against him, and felt his lips brush her forehead, then her cheek, and his fingers tangle in her hair.

“I do love you,” she breathed into his mouth, and then for a long moment spoke no more.


End file.
